


Pie and Prejudice

by SilverDancers



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Anxiety, Fluff, Freshman Jack Zimmerman, I promise this fic is mostly fluff interspersed with college typical stress, Junior Eric Bittle, Lardo please come back from Kenya your boys need you, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, Miscommunication, Pre-Relationship, Samwell Men's Hockey Team - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 01:29:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14760008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverDancers/pseuds/SilverDancers
Summary: The last thing Jack expects at Samwell is a diminutive Southerner as captain. The last thing Bitty needs is an overly serious NHL prospect messing up his carefully crafted team. They're both trying to prove themselves, but the problem is neither of them are really listening.





	Pie and Prejudice

_ April, 2013 _

 

When Jack visits Samwell for the first time after being accepted, he doesn’t expect to be greeted by one of his peewee hockey kids.  

 

Wait. No. He’s a college kid? Maybe the kid is the manager?

 

Eric Bittle, 5’7 and in possession of a drawl Jack barely understands, leads them around campus with a bright smile and goodie bags filled with jam and fresh baked bread. Jack supposes it takes all types to keep a team running smoothly…

 

Jack certainly isn’t expecting Bittle to skate onto the ice during their practice, an A on his jersey and leading the prospective players through drills with the captain by his side. If Jack were more expressive, he would’ve stuttered. Instead, he gives a skeptical glance to the tiny blonde and skates onto the ice.

 

It gets worse.

 

Bitty, as the others on the team call him, can barely take a check. In fact, one of the other sophomores- Shitty?- congratulates him for being knocked down and getting right back up.

Apparently when the kid was accepted, he regularly passed out on the ice when confronted. Jack doesn’t see much of an improvement, considering there’s still visible fear in Bittle’s eyes when anyone charges him. It’s a decent squad, having made it to the ECAC championships a couple times in the past few years, and close enough to home he thought it was an obvious choice. But Bittle? He’s throwing a wrench in Jack’s perception of the place.

 

“Jack, right?”

 

Jack turns around sees one of the other prospectives extending a hand as they leave the locker room. Jack nods and shakes the offered hand. “Pacer?”

 

“Yup! But most of my friends call me Wicks. Or Pace. Or Hey You. Or really whatever. Downfall of being number 3 of 6 kids in my family. Anyway, some of us are going to the dining hall together before our families get back. I didn’t see anyone invite you yet, so I thought I would. You don’t have to, but-“

 

“Sure. I’ll just text my Maman.”

 

“Sweet! So… You’re from Canada, huh?”

 

Jack almost cringes. He should’ve expected it to be like this, with people dancing around him and his name.

 

“Yes, Montreal.”

 

“Thought so, with that accent.” Wicks grins at him.

 

“I’ve been home for a while.”

 

“Cool, bro.” Wicks says as they walk down the path towards the dining hall.  “Also, while it’s just the two of us, I wanted to let you know that we’re trying to be chill okay?”

 

“Sorry?”

 

“Like it might be weird that all of us are acting a little oblivious, since you’re kind of famous and all, but we’re trying our best to not assume we know anything about you. Well except for Chad, but he’s a douche. Between you and me, I hope he fucks off to Harvard. He was bragging about it all weekend, like dude, why are you even here, just leave already. Anyway, all that to say, we’re cool.”

 

“Uh. Thanks. I think?” Jack isn’t sure what to make of Wicks. He’s certainly… loquacious. Nice enough, but it’s in Jack’s nature to be wary of every person he meets.

 

“It’s chill, dude. I mean- I’m just a kid from Jersey, what the hell do I know about anything? So other than hockey, obviously, why Samwell?”

 

Jack glances down at his phone. “My Maman actually went here, and I’ve come with her to events. I liked it. You?”

 

“Liberal arts and getting the hell out of the Tri-State Area. Though not so far my mom would start panicking. I’m thinking about Poli Sci, but who knows? It’s a sweet campus, though.”

 

Jack nods. “It’s quiet. Which is nice.”

 

Wicks laughs. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it? I also toured Northeastern and that was overflowing with people. Though apparently this place can get a little wild on the weekends. But what college doesn’t?”

 

Jack shrugs in response. “So you think you’ll commit?”

 

“Yeah, man. It feels right. It also helps that the hockey players here seem to be significantly less… uhh….” Wicks pauses, and scrunches his nose as he looks for the right word. “I guess…. dick-ish….? They’re different than my travel league that’s for sure.”

Jack supposes that any team that can give authority to a kid like Bittle probably qualifies as different.  

 

 

**_/.\\_**

 

 

Bitty loves Tadpole camp: new faces, a full day on the ice, and a reason to try out experimental baked goods on people who can’t tell the difference. What Bitty does not like is Jack Zimmerman. He’s stand-offish, conceited, rude, disrespectful….

 

“Your face is gonna stick like that,” Lardo says from where she’s organizing the supply closet at the end of the weekend.

 

Bitty sticks his tongue out at her. Lardo has made life a hundred times easier after replacing their awful ex-manager, but Bitty still isn’t used to the way she sees right through him.

 

“Yup, now it’s definitely stuck,” she deadpans in response. “But seriously, Bits, what’s got you all hot and bothered?”

 

“I would not use that phrase to describe what happened here today,” Bitty huffs back into his stall, arms crossed tightly.

 

Lardo snorts. “What? So the gorgeous, tall Canadian who’s just your type has nothing to do with it?”

 

“That allegedly ‘cute, tall Canadian,’ is probably the most arrogant person I’ve met since coming up north and that’s sayin’ somethin’,” Bitty shoots back at her. “What an ungrateful attitude. My momma warned me about you Northerners, but I didn’t really believe her until now. What a piece of work.”

 

Lardo smiles into the pile of warm-up jerseys she’s folding. “What did he do? Tell you he’s gluten free?”

 

“Larissa Phuong Duan, I resent that statement. I can work around allergies just fine.”

 

“I just like hearing you say Phương with a drawl.”

 

“Ha ha, very funny.” Bitty retorts, “My point stands. Jack is maybe the most insufferable person I’ve ever met. You should’ve seen the looks he was shooting me all day. Well, sorry I ain’t a 6 foot behemoth! I thought he was going to yell at me- me, the person leading the damn scrimmage- when Mackenzie checked me. I mean first of all-“

 

“Bits.”

 

“-Mackenzie was supposed to be-“

 

“Bits.”

 

“-on the other side of the ice and Jack-“

 

“Bit-“

 

“Yes?” Bitty cuts her off, a deep frown back on his face.

 

“Breathe, bro. We don’t even know if he’ll go here. And he didn’t seem all that bad to me, just kinda quiet. Which frankly this team could use more of.”

 

“Miss Duan, are you insinuating-“

 

“Yes. Whatever you’re about to say, absolutely yes. On a related note, did you hear that Shitty finally got Marsh’s dibs?”  

 

* * *

 

 

_ August, 2013 _

 

Jack moves into Samwell at the beginning of August, when the campus is quiet except for the fall sports teams. Maybe he imagines the way his Maman hugs him tighter than usual but there’s no other way but worry and love to interpret his Papa buying way too much food and tools Jack will never use… not to mention the probably prohibited hot plate and kettle.

 

Even though he had spent most of his teenage years away from home, Jack is more nervous to be alone at Samwell than he ever expected to be. He had gotten used to the quiet routines his parents fell into after his overdose, choosing to step out of the spotlight until very recently. The way his dad made omelets on Tuesdays and pancakes on Wednesdays. The way his mom went running with him in the afternoon unless he was coaching. And it’s all going to change.

 

Change is good, Jack reminds himself as he and Wicks set up the finishing touches in their room. Change is good, Jack reminds himself as his parents get into the car and drive away.

 

Change is good.

 

But some change is too much to handle.

 

Prime Example: Eric Richard Bittle

 

Frankly, Jack doesn’t know how to act around him. Bittle skates and handles the stick differently than any player Jack has ever seen. He spends more time supporting the new freshman than working on his own techniques. He spins on the ice with a grin on his face and an encouraging word.

 

Bittle doesn’t look like a champion and he certainly doesn’t treat practice like one. Hockey is of critical importance to Jack- this is his last best chance to make his way back into the good graces of the NHL- and he’s starting to wonder if he made a terrible mistake coming to Samwell.

 

It’s not until the first friendly of the season that Jack sees why Bittle is wearing the A.

Jack’s not sure what distracted him during practice, or if Bittle had just been holding back. Maybe Jack just assumed Bittle got the A because of the way he leads the team while Johnson waxes poetic about narrative tension.

 

Leadership is important when deciding who the captain is, but it doesn’t end there.

 

Bittle is fast. Not a, _ oh he’s quick _ , kind of fast. A, how is he already there, kind of fast. A, I underestimated where to shoot the puck again, kind of fast. A, why can’t he just stop moving, kind of fast.

 

Jack is both impressed and pissed off. He’s never expecting Bittle to be where he is and he’s played with small players for years. Hell, he and Kenny…

 

No, he doesn’t want to think about that. Too many emotions are wrapped up in small blondes too quick for their own damn good.

 

Instead, he decides glowering at his alternate captain is the best course of action. It’s easy to do, when they lose two pre-season games in a row and Bittle  _ still _ doesn’t seem to be taking it  _ seriously _ .  

 

“Dude,” The door swings open and Wicks slides back into the locker room, bag slung over his shoulder. “You heading back to Mordor?” He says, leaning against the wall. The rest of the team cleared out after the loss, and Jack thought he was alone to go over the game in peace.

 

Apparently not.

 

“Uh. Mordor?”

 

“Get hip with the Well-isms Jack! Where we live: Moore Dorm, Mordor! Also known as where no upperclassmen will tread.” Wicks laughs. “Anyway. Want to come with? I’m gonna drop my bag off in our room and grab a snack from the Stop and Shop if you’re up for it.”

 

Jack thinks for a moment. It’s not that he doesn’t like Wicks. The other freshman had emailed him after the hockey camp and asked if they could room together. While he had been planning to live off campus, his mom and therapist thought it might be better if he tried to integrate himself more with his class and teammates.

 

But Wicks is sort of his polar opposite- Where Jack is quiet, Wicks is loud. Jack keeps a strict schedule and a clean space, whereas Wicks is haphazard with his time and side of the room. But a lot of the other freshman seemed to be intimidated by Jack, so since arriving at Samwell, he found tagging along with Wicks and O’Meara the easiest choice.

 

Wicks notices Jack’s hesitation, “No pressure, bro. I can even grab you one of those nasty ass microwave burritos you eat.” Wicks teases.

 

Jack mutters, “they have a lot of protein,” and reaches for his wallet, when Wick’s hand on his shoulder stops him.

 

“Don’t even try! Seriously you like single-handedly furnished our room. I can get you a shitty frozen meal every now and again.” Wicks squeezes his shoulder before letting go. “One condition.”

 

“What?”

 

“You promise to watch Parks and Rec with me when I get back. That way I know you won’t spend more than the next half hour sulking.”

 

“I don’t sulk,” Jack defends himself.

 

“Uh-huh. And what do ya call what you’re doing now?”

 

“Reviewing.”

 

“Oooookay, brah. I’ll leave you to your ‘reviewing.’ You cool if I invite the team to come by?”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Jack shrugs. It wasn’t like he’s going to get any work done this evening anyway. His brain is buzzing too loudly.

 

Wicks isn’t gone more than 5 minutes when Jack sees his phone flash.

 

_ JZimmerman has been added to  _ **_Whoever Told Hall and Murray About This Chat is Skating Suicides_ **

 

WickItGood: Parks and Rec marathon in Mordor B314 for whoever’s up

 

Billingsworth: WTF Wicks it’s like 10:30. Who is going to sleep already?

 

Billingsworth: Except for Holster, you do you, babe.

 

SuperJew: It’s called BEAUTYSLEEP but you wouldn’t know that

 

JZimmerman: Who is who in here?

 

Billingsworth: JZ. YOU ABSOLUTE BEAUT. WELCOME.

 

JZimmerman: That’s Shitty.

 

JZimmerman: Your name is Billingsworth?

 

Billingsworth: Today it is, brah. We’ll see who wins the naming tournament next.

 

JZimmerman: ?

 

ThisJustIn: I would say someday you’ll understand

 

ThisJustIn: But I’ve been here a year and still have no clue

 

ThisJustIn: Plus, Shitty, Bits always wins

 

Billingsworth: BECAUSE WE ALL KNOW GEORGIANS HAVE THE MOST BOMB ASS NAMES

 

8-Bit: Y’all better not be pokin fun at Grandpappy Beauford Jeremiah Bittle the 4th.

 

ThisJustIn: NEVER

 

Superjew: WOULDN’T DREAM OF IT

 

WickItGood: ….

 

Billingsworth: I knew I was meant to be a part of your family, Bits.

 

8-Bit: I mean

 

8-Bit: Your picture is already in the stairwell

 

WickItGood: I didn’t think anyone was named Beauford anymore.

 

8-Bit: Oh child

 

8-Bit: tbh he was born in 1915

 

8-Bit: I’ll come by some other time, Wicks. I have work tomorrow morning.

 

WickItGood: np Bits. Just an fyi!

 

_ JZimmerman changed his name to Jack Zimmerman _

 

SuperJew: Seriously bro? You got nothing?

 

SuperJew: BRO we need to give Jack a nickname

 

ThisJustIn: BRO

 

Jack Zimmerman: It’s fine guys.

 

ThisJustIn: Jack-o-lantern

 

SuperJew: Jack-o-lope

 

Barrington: Manny?

 

SuperJew: Merman

 

Barrington: MERMAN

 

Jack Zimmerman: …

 

* * *

 

_ September, 2013 _

 

Bitty isn’t sure  _ why on God’s Green Earth _ Jack still hates him. Bitty has gone out of his way to treat him with the same warmth and familiarity that he employs with all the frogs. Even though Jack has been insufferable, Bitty has responded with nothing but kindness… admittedly over exaggerated, but still; a little passive aggressive hospitality hasn’t killed a Wellie yet.  

 

Nearly naked and perched precariously on Bitty’s chair, Shitty rolls his eyes. “Dude, Jack’s not a kid. You can’t expect him to react to you the same way the others do.”

 

“Sure! Fine! I get that! But he treats me like I’ve personally offended him,” Bitty moans back.

 

“Well have you?”

 

Bitty glares at Shitty. “Of course not, Mister! We have nothing in common, he looks down his nose at me all practice, and worse, haven’t connected on the ice at all. That’s probably enough to make a hot shot like him think he’s being offended.”

 

Shitty laughs. “He’s been here for a month, Bits. How long did it take you to warm up to me?”

 

“All of five minutes.”

 

“Okay, true. But not everyone is you and me, brah. And it took you all of our frog year to actually be in sync with the rest of the team. Not to mention getting past your fainting goat play. Give him time.” Shitty pauses for a moment and looks seriously at Bitty, his tone quieter. “He hasn’t said anything… inappropriate to you has he?”

 

Bitty’s sophomore summer had been tumultuous to say the least. With Nate gone and Bitty splitting the captaincy with Johnson (not knowing how he got it, beyond Johnny’s shrugged “plot over logic, dude.”), Bitty already had a lot to deal with.

 

From there, ESPN picked up that the ECAC champions had an openly gay player as an alternate captain, which made the whole ‘coming out to his family and the rest of the country apparently’ problem disappear. At least his summer classes in Providence had gone spectacularly, but a weekly commute to 6am bread class was no joke.

 

Frankly, Bitty is exhausted and could care less about anyone’s, much less Jack Zimmerman’s, opinion on his sexuality. Bitty’s parents are supportive, his friends are happy, and he’s learned how to drown out the white noise. 

 

Bitty shakes his head at Shitty. “No, he hasn’t said anything. Not out loud, at least. I can’t claim to know what’s going on in his head, but I reckon he wouldn’t’ve come to Samwell if he was severely homophobic.” 

 

Shitty leans back onto Bitty’s desk and crosses his arms. “Good. I haven’t had to break out my WGSS 101 flashcards this year, but you know I will at the slightest provocation.”

 

Bitty laughs. “What would I do without you, Shits?”

 

**_/.\\_**

 

 

“Uh- Jack?”

 

Jack looks up from his spot, cross-legged on the floor, running over the history flashcards Ransom had helped him make. He’d found the sophomore to be by far the best study partner in the Haus and wouldn’t have gotten through his first quiz in years without Ransom’s help. The Haus had been oddly quiet since classes started, with everyone making promises they’d eventually break about studying at the library and getting higher grades. Except today Bitty was back early and viciously kneading bread into the kitchen table. Or he had been, until he popped into the living room to distract Jack.

 

“Yeah?”

 

Bittle hums quietly to himself before responding. “Shitty and I were talking and it got me thinking. I wanted to apologize if I’ve been treating you like a kid. You’re not a traditional frog and I guess I didn’t take that into account.”

 

Jack just stares at Bittle, who shifts uncomfortably. He wasn’t expecting an apology and isn’t prepared to answer, so he just says the first thing that comes to his mind.

 

“Okay.”

 

Bittle’s eyes narrow. “With that in mind, I think you and I should do extra practices together, if you’re up for it. You’re doing well connecting with most of the other players, but you and I are a mess on the ice. How does 4 am sound?”

 

“For what?” Jack monotones.

 

“Practice. I work opening at the café tomorrow, so need to be at work by 5:30. Rink at 4 should give me enough time to skate, shower, and make it in time.”

 

Jack continues to level a blank stare at Bittle. He… He couldn’t be serious? What college kid was up that early ever? He was going to have to talk to his therapist about how to adjust his carefully maintained sleep schedule...

 

“I guess.” He shrugs in response. Wait. He wasn’t actually going ahead with this madness, was he?

 

“Great!” Bittle beams, afternoon sun coming through the windows to catch the flop of blonde waves on the top on his head. “I’ll leave you to your flashcards then.”

 

Bittle is out of the doorway and back in the kitchen before Jack catches his breath.  

 

oOo

 

Bitty is not naturally an early riser, but resigned himself years ago to a life of Soviet morning calisthenics and French patisseries. He had baked (not bribed, hush you) his way into the internship at Johnson & Wales and even though it’s nearing October, still hasn’t broken the strange hours that the full-time culinary students kept.

 

The only other person awake in the Haus is, unsurprisingly, Johnson, scanning through piles of paper at the kitchen table.

 

“Still editing? You ought to get to bed, Johnson,” Bitty yawns, absentmindedly heating up coffee from the day before.

 

“Can’t, Bits. I have no idea where this is going. You think writers would have some semblance of a plot before they start putting words on paper.” He drops his face into one of the books and sighs. “Can you believe this used to be the first page?”

 

“Bless your heart,” Bitty says, gently placing a cup of warmed-up coffee in front of the goalie and patting his back.  “You up for pancakes after practice tomorrow?”

 

Johnson lifts his eyes from the table and mumbles. “Yeah, sure. But only because all these time-skips are making my head spin.”

 

Bitty shakes his head at the goalie and pours the rest of the coffee into a thermos. “Alright. Now, try to get some sleep!” He says over his shoulder as he hurries out the door. His co-captain is a strange one, always editing at strange hours of the night. But at least he’s conveniently around whenever Bitty need him.  

 

When Bitty arrives at the rink, Jack is already there, hair messy and bleary eyed.

 

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Bitty jokes. He gets a flat blue stare in response. “Aaaalrighty, we keep the chirping to a minimum, then. Let me put on my skates and I’ll be out there in a moment.”

 

They quietly stretch and run drills for half an hour before Jack’s sighs become too frequent for Bittle to ignore any longer.

 

“Alright, hon. What’s on your mind? I thought you would be the last person in the world to be complaining about more hockey.”

 

“I don’t see what the point is.” Jack says. “I get it, you’re one of the captains, but it doesn’t mean that you need to prove to me that you can play hockey.”

 

Eric gapes. That’s the longest string of words he’s heard Jack say at once, and if he wasn’t so offended, he would’ve been proud.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I said you don’t have to prove yourself to me.”

 

“Oh, I heard you the first time. What in heaven’s name are you getting at?” Bitty’s words are long and slow as he crosses his arms over his chest, controlling the anger threatening to leak out.

 

“I mean-  _ merde _ \- that we’re here at 4 in the morning to  _ run drills.  _ Can’t we just do this with everyone else?”

 

“Not until you can keep up,” Bitty drawls. “Now, I have been nothing but nice to you, Mr. Zimmerman, but don’t think for a minute that means you can disrespect me. We are here, at the crack of dawn, because if you want to be on the first line, you can’t just be a superstar. You need to click with the rest of the team. And I ain’t pretendin’ to be any sort of prodigy, but we should be able to complete a pass for goodness sakes.”

 

Jack’s eyes are wide, but half hidden by the dark hair falling into his eyes.

 

“Bittle…” He starts, hands wringing the top of his hockey stick. “Honestly, I’m not good with…” Jack motions towards Bitty. “...this.”

 

Bitty’s blood runs cold. “Oh.”

 

“I’m having a hard time… adjusting and I’d rather not be… i guess… alone… with you.” Jack says quietly.

 

Bitty feels tears pricking his eyes, but he forces them down. He needs to get out and collect himself. “I see.”

 

Jack has the nerve to look apologetic. “Should we just wrap up for today?”

 

Bitty’s stomach rolls, but he takes the out. “Yeah, sure. Just… we have team practice tomorrow at 6:30.”

 

“Ok.”

 

Bitty doesn’t run out, but it’s a close thing. He wasn’t expecting Jack to be so up front about not wanting to be around him. He’d experienced plenty of homophobia before, but hearing the confession come quietly from his teammate is a punch to the gut. It reminds him of all the jocks who harassed him though middle and high school, who didn’t think he could play because of who they assumed he was attracted to.

 

Bitty takes a full ten minutes in the away team showers, arms wrapped tightly around himself, breathing deeply as the hot water runs over him. He just needs to get through work, then he can curl up in his bed for the rest of the afternoon. He’s just happy he doesn’t have class- he couldn’t sit through it with the noise in his head.

 

 

 

**_/.\\_**

 

 

Jack can’t believe he opened up to  _ Bittle _ of all people about his anxiety. Being back in a competitive environment at school and struggling with the team takes a toll on him. It’s not like he minded the extra morning practice, but it being one-on-one made his brain start freaking out. It would be easier if a couple other people could join them, at least at first, making him feel less singled out.

 

Taking a couple deep breaths in the locker room, he notices that Bittle’s things aren’t in the corner stall. He must’ve run out as opposed to taking a shower… odd since he said he was going to work. Jack pushes the thought aside and heads into the showers, rather than trekking back to the dorms.

 

Maybe he would ask Shitty to join them next time. The other junior is almost more outgoing than Bittle, and he exudes a natural energy that takes a lot of pressure off Jack to interact.

Emotions back in check, Jack breathes deeply for a few moments longer. The hot water steadies him, and he tries to quiet his mind. Though the exercises his therapist gives him don’t always work, the routine was comfortable. Stop, take a breath, observe, proceed.

 

This is him proceeding. He just needs time.

 

* * *

 

_ October, 2013 _

 

The sun is already setting by the time Bitty gets back to the Haus. Another day of work, classes, hockey, and avoiding his major advisor who keeps emailing him about setting up a time to discuss a thesis.  

 

“Eric Bittle. Love of my life. Baker extraordinaire. Brother of the downtrodden.” Shitty yells as Bitty walks past the living room.

 

Bitty shakes his head at Shitty, who is currently leaping over the back of the green couch and tossing his controller at Holster. “Whatd’ya need, Shits?”

 

“You. Me. Pies.”

 

“That’s not a sentence.”

 

“I need pies. Stat. My parents are coming to town this weekend and I need a way to both impress them and piss them off.”

 

“My pies are supposed to do that how?”

 

“Will you be my boyfriend?”

 

Bitty chokes, but recovers quickly. “Well you sure know how to flatter a boy.”

 

“Shitty, don’t ask Bitty out because of his pies. We’ve all tried it and it never works,” Holster says from the couch where he’s trying in vain to control both his and Shitty’s Mario Kart characters.

 

“Even I’ve tried,” Johnson says, poking his head in from the kitchen.

 

“Wait, we’re dating Bitty now?” Ransom says entering the room, saving Holster by taking the second controller. “’Swawesome.”

 

Bitty blushes, his whole face turning bright red. These boys. “Will all of you hush.” He turns his attention to Shitty, kneeling on the floor in front of him. “Shitty, you have got to be kidding me. We all know you’ve been stuck on Lardo since the moment you saw her.”

 

It’s Shitty’s turn to blush. “Biiiiiiitty, that’s not faiiiiiiir. I need you. This is the first year they’re coming, and I need you to be your perfect effervescent self. I can’t trust anyone but you with the most privileged position of being my beloved.”

 

Bitty ignores the chorus of dismayed “heys” that echo around the Haus at that announcement. “Good LORD, hon. I know your family and I’m not sure even I can be civil to them for a whole weekend.”

 

“But Bitty.”

 

“No. Take Holster.”

 

“I volunteer as tribute!” Holster shouts.

 

“Ugh, okay I’ll take Holster. But I still need your pies to trick them into being impressed.”

 

“Impressing the Knights is the last thing I’m worried about. Don’t you remember move-out day Freshman year?”

 

Shitty winces. “Ugh, I forgot about that.”

 

“Uh-huh. I haven’t,” Bitty deadpans, arms crossed over his chest. “No way. When they barged into our dorm room and scared off my ex, I thought your dad was going to have a conniption.”

 

“Oh fuck, you’re right. Yeah, you’re off the hook. Maybe I can go poly with both Holster and Ransom?”

 

“Dude. You know you don’t just ‘go poly,’ right?” Ollie says, from the front door of the Haus, Wicks and Jack peering over his shoulders.

 

“Alright, party time!” Ransom says at the same time Bitty hears Johnson mutter, “This wasn’t in the script.”

 

“Ollie. Sweet frog. Inheritor of my gender flashcards. I’m talking about parental drama. I need to piss off as many Knights as possible to keep them away at least until graduation. That’s- “Shitty counts off on his fingers. “-19 months from now. Bonus if I get uninvited from all holidays this year.” Shitty bounds over to the frogs and throws his arm around Jack. “I need as many partners as I can get. Fuck, I’ll start a harem if it means I don’t get dragged to the Vineyard this summer. You in Jacko?”

 

Jack looks nervous enough to bolt, and Bitty’s stomach drops violently. He might be sick. Bitty doubts Jack will be as up front in front of such a large group, but-

 

“I don’t want to be distracted on a game day.” Jack deadpans.

 

What.

 

Bitty blinks slowly. Had he heard that right?

 

“Jaaaack, no fun.” Shitty pouts dramatically. “All work and no play, Jaaaaack.” He spins around and launches himself back on the couch. “Guess you’re my last resort Holtzy!”

 

“Bits is right. You really know how to make a boy feel special,” Holster laughs.

 

Jack’s body language still says he’d rather be anywhere else, but Bitty can’t overcome his shock that Jack hadn’t turned Shitty down. Maybe Bitty misunderstood their previous conversation? But how else is he supposed to interpret Jack motioning between them and telling him he was uncomfortable?

 

Doing what he does best, Bitty presses his complicated emotions down and escapes to the kitchen, reaching into the cupboard to start a pot of spaghetti.

 

 

**_/.\\_**

 

 

Jack has an icepack over his face, trying to block out the light streaming in from the window (why hadn’t they bought curtains?) while still managing to breath. The cold is making the bridge of his nose ache, but anything is better than the pulsing pain behind his eyelids. He hates migraines but has learned how to live with them. Ever since he stopped taking anything stronger than his daily SSRI, they’d become more frequent. He decided strong abortive medications weren’t a good idea, not yet, so Jack is stuck taking Tylenol and waiting it out. Thankfully this isn’t one of the worst ones, but that meant he’s lying in bed bored. He hates doing nothing for such a long amount of time, waiting for his face to stop aching enough that he can finally get back to real life.

 

There’s a thump as the front door closes.

 

“Hey Pace… can you keep the lights off?” Jack mumbles.

 

“Oh!”

 

If Jack’s head wasn’t as heavy as an elephant, he would’ve sit straight upright. Instead, he quickly uncovers his eyes and peers blearily at the person who is certainly not Wicks. Not even Ollie.

 

Instead, Eric Bittle is standing in his dorm room, holding a basket of laundry and wearing a shocked expression. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were here…. Are- Are you okay?”  

 

Jack leans back into his pillow and lays the ice back over his eyes, “Migraine. Skipped classes.”

 

Bittle’s voice drops to a whisper. “Wicks gave me his key. He had-“

 

“Laundry going, yeah. He usually does it today. Where is he?” The unspoken question: why is Bittle here?

 

“His study group ran long and he wanted to avoid the great freshman tradition of folks emptying the dryer by tossing the previous person’s clothes on the ground.” Bittle whispers with sniff of disapproval.

 

Jack sighs, “You can talk normally. It’s fine.”

 

Bittle is still quiet. “No, no, it’s fine, I’ll get going.”

 

Jack nods but he’s not sure Bittle can tell. “Okay.” He pauses for a moment, “Uh, actually Bittle…”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Can you text Wicks and ask him to get me a bagel?” Jack asks. “I haven’t eaten.”

 

“My goodness, Jack! It’s almost 5 o'clock.” Bittle’s voice raises, but immediately quiets to a whisper. “Give me 20 minutes.”

 

“Bittle, what-“

 

The door clicks closed.

 

_ “<<alright then>>.” _ Jack sighs, peeking out from under the ice to see if the room is empty. Sure enough, Bittle is gone. Jack’s not sure what to expect, but he doesn’t have the energy to care. He curls back up and feeling marginally better, plays a podcast softly from his phone.

 

The sound of the door slamming shut wakes him up.

 

“Oh shit dude, sorry!”  He hears as the lights get flipped on and off in quick succession.

 

Ollie and Wicks are standing in the entrance, trying in vain to take their shoes off, hold a phone flashlight, and not drop a massive pizza box at the same time.

 

Jack blinks quickly, noticing the pounding behind his eyes is mostly gone, replaced by a slight ache. “Go ahead and turn the light on. You two look ridiculous.” He deadpans.

 

Wicks snorts. “That means a lot coming from you, Mr. Bedhead. Feelin’ any better?”

 

“A bit.” Jack sits up and swings his legs off the edge of his bed.

 

“We got pizza if you want a slice,” Ollie offers as he flicks the light back on and plops down on Wicks’ chair. “Though I can’t promise Pace will leave us any.”

 

Jack shakes his head. Pizza on a nauseous stomach is never a good idea for him. “It’s fine.”

 

After a couple minutes, they hook Ollie’s laptop up to the tv to play a movie. Wicks is absentmindedly chewing a slice of pepperoni, while giving color commentary.

 

“Gross,” Ollie complains, and Wicks throws a balled-up napkin at him in response.

 

“Oh yeah, Bitty came by, right?” Wicks asks, still tossing napkin balls at Ollie who is trying in vain to eat his pizza with a fork and knife. 

 

“ _ Oui _ . He put your basket in the closet.”

 

“Cool! What’s in the bag he left?”

 

“Huh?” Jack’s eyes knit in confusion. “What bag?”

 

“The bag? The one that clearly says ‘For Jack, Not Wicks, From B’ on it?” Wicks asks.

 

“Dude, don’t tell me you haven’t opened it! Cap’s the bomb at care packages.” Ollie asserts. He hops up from his spot on the floor and bounds to Jack’s desk. From the chair, Ollie grabs a brown paper bag, which sure enough has Jack’s name on it.

 

Taking it from Ollie, Jack opens it and carefully takes the contents out. A tupperware container of chicken and rice soup. A polar seltzer water. A small plastic bag filled with homemade bread. And at the bottom another Tupperware filled with gingersnaps, this one with a hastily scrawled sticky note on it.

 

_ You’re asleep now, but these are for you! Sorry the bread is day-old, and I definitely took soup from the dining hall. Share the cookies with Wicks. Or not. No one will know. Txt me if you need anything -B _

 

Jack feels something flutter in his chest. If there’s one thing Bittle’s good at, it’s taking care of the team. It’s completely different from how all the other teams he’s been on operated, and honestly, he’s starting to get used to it.

 

“Bro.”

 

Jack looks up to see two pairs of eyes on him.

 

“Are you blushing?” Wicks whispers, almost reverently.

 

Jack feels his face heat up even more. “No.”

 

“Dude you totally are. It’s chill. Attention from Bits is flattering as hell,” Ollie laughs. “I’m way too bi not to notice how hot he is.”

 

“Thirsty much, Ollie?” Wicks teases.

 

Jack shrugs absentmindedly. “I just thought… maybe he doesn’t like me very much?”

 

“What? No!”

 

“Impossible!”

 

“Haha. Very funny you two.”

 

 

**_/.\\_**

 

 

“What the actual fuck, Bits.” Shitty groans as he drags himself into their shared bathroom at 3:47am.

 

Bitty is already there brushing his teeth and getting ready for a reboot of pre-work practice with Jack… now featuring Shitty apparently. Three weeks after  _ the incident _ , Johnson had taken him aside after practice and pretty much scolded him for not keeping with the original premise of the story- whatever that meant. But his co-cap was adamant that he needed to start up morning practice with Jack again.

 

“What kind of fresh hell is this.” Shitty complains again. “The world shouldn’t even exist at this time of the morning.”

 

Bitty finishes brushing and sticks out his tongue at his suffering suitemate. “Not all of us can coast through here on tuition alone, Mr. Knight.”

 

Shitty sticks his tongue out in response, hip-checking Bitty out of the way of the sink. He splashes water in his face and, standing in nothing but his American flag boxers, proclaims that he’s ready for the day.

 

“Put more clothes on before you freeze, you animal,” Bitty scolds before heading downstairs. Everything is dark and quiet before he flips the lights on to warm up some leftover coffee. By the time he and Shitty reach the rink, Jack’s already there shooting pucks at the empty net. He looks tired, but not like he just woke up (unlike Shitty who looks ready to crawl under a rock and die).

 

“Look who’s up and shinin’ before the sun,” Bitty chirps, shoving his less desirable emotions under three layers of Georgian hospitality.

 

Jack skates over. “I couldn’t sleep so just came over early.”

 

Bitty flops down on a bench, working to lace his skates up. “How come I have a feeling you never left yesterday?”

 

Jack shrugs, but his cheeks go red. “I get along with the maintenance staff. They let me stay sometimes.”

 

Shitty, still halfway delirious, slides haphazardly onto the ice. “My dude, you’re young, you need your sleep.”

 

“I’m pretty sure I’m older than both of you,” Jack mumbles.

 

Bitty shakes his head as he slides on to the ice. “You’re still a SMH frog, which gives us a free pass to tell you to sleep.”

 

Jack looks down at Bitty, his gaze skeptical. “But I don’t get to tell you to sleep? Captain 4am?”

 

Shitty snorts loudly and skates circles around the two of them. “Jack’s got chirps! I knew you had it in you.” He slides to a stop and ruffles Bitty’s hair. “Unfortunately for you, Eric Bittle works harder than God.”

 

It’s Bitty’s turn to blush as he runs his hands through his hair, fixing what Shitty messed up. “Well, I’ve got to make up for my horrific scholastic abilities somehow.”

 

“Baking pies at 1 am does that how?”

 

“Oh hush, Shits.”  

 

Bitty sees a tentative smile flutter across Jack’s face. He looks much more comfortable now than he had the last time they tried this and Bitty wonders why. It could have just been that the end of October was racing towards them and Jack was starting to find his place on the team. Or could have been that he was playing hockey with someone other than Bitty, who Jack still freezes up around.

 

Regardless, the team was finding its footing and Bitty wants to keep that momentum for as long as possible. If that means forcing himself to have 2 on 1s with Jack Wunderkid Zimmerman, then so be it.

 

**_/.\\_**

 

 

Bittle is distracting. How can someone so small catch his attention so consistently? Everywhere Jack turns, Bittle is there, playing video games with Shitty, thrown over Holster’s shoulder laughing, getting Ransom to eat at least two meals a day, dragging Ollie into his baking sprees. Jack doesn’t even live at the Haus, but Bittle’s warmth permeates everything he touches long after he is gone.

 

Honestly, Jack can hardly focus when he’s around. He does notice that ever since their one on one, now two on one, practices have started, that Bittle is giving him more space than he gives any of the other team members. Bittle must’ve taken what he said about his anxiety to heart and stepped back from the effusive nature he employs with the rest of SMH. It had certainly helped him relax and he and Bittle were starting to connect on the ice, though the coaches didn’t have them on the same line yet.

 

Jack groans and drops his head to his desk. “ _ <<This is useless>>” _ he mutters to himself. There’s no way he is going to make it out of here and back to the NHL if he isn’t a regular starter. Sure, it is only his first year back to playing competitive hockey, but still. He’s 21, and can’t help the overwhelming feeling of being  _ behind _ , especially since Kent is killing it in Las Vegas.

 

“Alright, I know that face,” Wicks says from his bed, “We’re going to Annie’s.”

 

“Annie’s doesn’t solve anything,” Jack grumbles.

 

“But will it make you feel worse?” Wicks raises an eyebrow at him, jumping off the bed and to the ground.

 

“No…”

 

“Then we’re going!”

 

Jack looks at his roommate. “Okay, Wicks. But you have to promise to finish your midterm when we get back.”

 

“Ugh, you are no fun.” Wicks complains, but there’s a joking light in his eyes. “Anything to get you out of your head for a couple minutes.”

 

Jack pulls on a light jacket and grabs their dorm keys.

 

After arriving at the café and ordering, black coffee for Wicks and earl grey for Jack, they take one of the seats by a window.

 

“You know, we may not be Ransom and Holster, but you can let me know when you’re having a rough day,” Wicks says, shrugging slightly. “I’ve gotten okay at reading you, but you can still go hockey robot on us sometimes. And us frogs gotta stick together, yeah?”

 

Jack doesn’t have the words yet, so he nods at his friend, hoping Wicks understands that it means a lot to him. He grips his teacup tighter and after a few moments where Wicks drinks his coffee quietly, he answers. “I’ve been getting better, really. But it’s a lot and I’ve been feeling behind. You know about…” Jack motions towards himself. “…me?”

 

Wicks snorts. “No more than your average kid from Jersey. I heard about what happened a couple years ago, but mostly from dirt rags that have no business in anyone’s business.” Wicks takes a sip of his coffee. “You know you don’t owe me or anyone else an explanation, right?”

 

Jack shakes his head. “I know, but I guess it helps. You are my friend.”

 

“Jack!” Wicks exclaims, “You’re on a roll with your feelings. We should celebrate.”

 

Jack feels the warmth high on his cheeks. “Are you chirping me?”

 

“Yes, sir!”

 

Jack smiles and takes a sip of his tea. “Well, since I’m on a… roll…” Wicks snorts again “I need to get back to the NHL, but my anxiety has been kicking in every time I’m around Bittle. It honestly makes no sense, but my brain goes on red alert whenever he and I are together. I think it’s affecting our gameplay and the coaches have noticed. I have no idea what to do.”

 

Wicks’ gaze is indecipherable. “1 in 4 maybe more?” He finally chuckles.

 

“What?”

 

“Come on, don’t tell me you’ve been at Samwell for two whole months and haven’t heard that one.”

 

“Sure, I’ve heard it, but what does that have to do with anything?”

 

Wicks narrows his eyes at him. “I don’t know, Jack. Does it have anything to do with anything?”

 

Jack stares at Wicks for a few long moments when it finally clicks. “Wait- you- you think I like Bittle?”

 

Wicks shrugs, but there’s a tiny smile beginning on his face. “I don’t know, Jacko, but it might explain the freezing up… Definitely all the blushing.”

 

“That’s….” Jack starts to deny it, but stops. Does he like Bittle? “… Not impossible.”  Oh no. This isn’t good. This can’t be happening again. Jack’s voice lowers, and he takes a frantic glance around the café. “You can’t say anything Pace, please. It’s not like anything can happen anyway- even if I wanted it to happen- which I clearly don’t- but the NHL-“

 

“Dude, dude, dude. Breathe.” Wicks says, putting his hand on Jack’s. “I didn’t bring you here to interrogate you. You don’t have to say anything.”

 

Jack stops and breaths, staring blankly at Wicks’ hand on his own. He focuses on the callused warmth of it until his thoughts go back into linear order. “I’m sorr-“

 

“No apologies, dude. I shouldn’t have pushed. I’m sorry.” Wicks said, squeezing Jack’s hand one more time before letting go. “I won’t say anything, promise.”

 

Jack nods. “It’s not you. I trust you. It just didn’t dawn on me that my discomfort might be…”  _ attraction _ “something other than anxiety.”

 

Wicks nods. “Again, sorry Jack. If it helps, going by this table here, it’s 2 in 2. That’s a reason a lot of us came to Samwell. Bitty’s the first out NCAA captain, which totally sold it for me. So, you don’t have to say anything, but if you ever decide to, you won’t be alone.”

 

Jack glances up at Wick’s face and wonders how this 18-year-old kid is more capable of talking him down from an attack than most adults he’s met in the years since his overdose. “Thanks for trusting me, Wicks.”

 

Wicks smiles from behind his mug, “We’re all just trying to figure it out, yeah?”

 

 

**_/.\\_**

 

 

Bitty might strangle someone. He doesn’t yet know who. He doesn’t yet know how. But someone is going to pay for what they did to poor Betsy- two days before Halloween no less!

 

“Boys, could y’all come here?” He calls into the Haus. Ransom and Holster come bounding down the stairs, clueless. Shitty has been around long enough to look nervous as he pokes his head over the couch. The frogs, who are on the front porch enjoying the unseasonable weather, don’t move until he adds, “Now!”

 

Soon, not soon enough, far too many hockey players are squished into their tiny kitchen where Bitty is tenderly holding Betsy’s oven door in his hands.

 

“Today was such a lovely day.” Bitty sighs, “I was going to finish up my thesis proposal and start on the pies for Halloweekend, but what should await me when I got back from work?”

 

A look of dread comes over all the boys faces, but Bitty continues. “Now as you can see, our dear Betsy is shot six ways to Sunday, and I just need to know who’s going to own up.”

Bitty knows his accent has softened considerably since arriving at Samwell, but there’s something about the hot, heavy anger that rolls the vowels out of him.

 

Shitty steps forward, “I was trying to make pot brownies-“

 

“Hush, Mr. Knight, I know it wasn’t you,” Bitty cuts him off. “Remember when you burned a pizza on the bottom last year? You called me beside yourself the moment it happened.”

 

Bitty notices Wicks shifting uncomfortably in place. “Wicks?”

 

Wicks flinches. “Uhhh, yeah?”

 

“Do you know how Betsy lost her door?” Bitty asks, softer this time.

 

“I might’ve been trying to make cookies… and the door got stuck… so I jimmied it… and the hinge ripped clean off.”

 

Bitty breathes deeply, controlling his anger in front of the clearly upset frog. “And you didn’t think to mention anything? Not even a note?”

 

Wicks shakes his head, looking at the floor. “I’m sorry, Bitty.”

 

He cannot believe these boys. He knows they didn’t mean it, but a whole house of 6-foot-plus giants who don’t know their own strength around delicate and old objects would be the death of him.

 

“I’m trying not to be upset, Wicky, but we don’t have enough money in the sin bin to cover a whole oven. Anyone have a partner they’ve been neglecting to tell us about? Eaten more than their pie allotment for the month? Prank called Harvard?” Bitty stares at the others. When they all shake their heads, he looks at Betsy’s door and sighs.  “Alright, y’all can go. If you find a place where we can find a cheap replacement, let me or Johnson know. We’ll go get another one when we can. Until then, microwave and stovetop it is.”

 

Bitty turns on his heel and pushes through the group of boys, immediately going upstairs and flopping onto his bed. His anger is rapidly replaced by melancholy. Junior year was shaping up to be just awful. He had barely passed all his midterms and his grades were dipping too low for comfort. After a summer finally doing what he really loved to do, returning to regular liberal arts classes had been a harder transition than he had anticipated.

 

To top it all off, losing Nate at graduation threw him off more than he expected. Sure, they hadn’t been frozen four material, but they had clicked with each other and Nate had helped him through some of his checking complex. Jack was a different sort of center- much more intense and less vocal on the ice. It may have worked with his pro-hockey bound teammates in the Q, but Bitty and SMH weren’t them.

 

Bitty logs onto his vlog and begins to shoot a video, venting out his frustration and mourning Betsy’s passing, when he hears a knock on the door.

 

“Come on in,” He sighs, wiping any lingering tear stains from his cheeks.

 

A tentative flop of dark hair peeks into the door.

 

“Yes, Jack?”

 

Jack looks marginally terrified to be standing in the doorway. His eyes are sweeping around Bitty’s room. “Uhh, can we talk?”

 

Bitty can’t help it if he looks extremely skeptical. He shuts his computer and stands up, patting his chair as an indication for Jack to sit down.

 

Jack comes in and sits on the very edge of the chair, which sets Bitty’s teeth on edge. Still, he’s captain and he’s got to be available to any one of his teammates should they need it. Leaning against his bed, Bitty motions for Jack to go on.

 

“So about… the… your oven. It was all three of us, Ollie, Pace, and I. We sort of panicked.”

 

Bitty sighs deeply, and rubs his hands over his eyes. “I appreciate you telling me, Jack, but it doesn’t really change much.”

 

“Well, since I also broke it, I can… buy you a new one?” Jack says to the floor.

 

Bitty gapes. “Jack, you don’t even live here. I mean- I- we couldn’t accept that. A new oven is hundreds of dollars.”

 

Jack shrugged slightly. “My allowance is probably enough to cover it.”

 

Bitty bristles. “Your allowance?” He’s really trying to listen. He really is. But this boy just waltzes into his life, insults him at practice, breaks his precious oven, and now thinks that money can fix it all?

 

Jack, oblivious it seems, nods. “Yeah, my parents send me a little a month for food and things. But I can put it towards an oven instead. Since most of my food comes from you anyway.”

 

Well, Bitty can’t argue with that. But the insinuation that he can just throw money at something to have it go away is ridiculous. “Jack, I really can’t accept-“

 

“No, I want to!” Jack says quickly, eyes rising to meet Bittle’s for the first time in the conversation. They’re wide and brilliantly, obnoxiously blue against his bright red cheeks. “I want to. I should, since I can.”

 

Bitty looks at Jack, who is staring at him with an earnestness he’s never seen off the ice. “Ok, Jack. If you insist. One caveat.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“You have to come with to pick it out.”

 

 

**_/.\\_**

 

 

_ “<<Okay Jack, you can do this. It’s just a Haus party. You’re allowed to have fun. Know your boundaries. You can have fun.>>” _

 

Jack whispers to himself. He stops in front of the Haus’ front porch, currently overflowing with people he doesn’t recognize, and almost turns around. This is definitely worse than his mother’s charity galas, where at least he knew his role. He can’t get away with “press-mode” around SMH, and he’s tried. Everyone sees right through it, and he usually ends up with more than one person in his lap or otherwise doing their best to distract him from whatever upset him that day.

 

Steeling himself, he maneuvers around a couple giggling girls hogging the steps and into the Haus. He’s momentarily overwhelmed by the scent of beer and sweat, the flashing lights, and the multitude of costumes. 

 

“You made it! I knew you’d come!”

 

He turns around to see Wicks peeking out of the kitchen, ushering him over. “Dude, I had a bet with Ollie and he thought you’d bail, but I said nah, you’d be here and here you are!”

 

Wicks, though an inch or so shorter than him, throws his arms over Jack’s shoulders pulling him in for a hug. Jack expects Wicks’ drunken affection, so he leans into it, using the feeling to ground him back into the present. Wicks is in a Jersey Devils onesie and a pair of sparkly red horns that Jack knows he didn’t have when he left their room to pre-game at the Haus.     

 

“You smell like a Jolly Rancher.” Jack tells him, holding Wick’s waist since the other boy still hasn’t unclasped his hands from behind Jack’s neck.

 

“BRUH. Shitty makes this… this…. thing- Shower Slushie? Bath bomb? I don’ remember man, but it’s awesome. Tastes like watermelon. Last kegster it was apple.”

 

Jack shakes his head and finally detangles himself from Wicks. “Are you alright?”

 

“With you here, man? Never better.”

 

Jack smiles briefly. “Where is the rest of the team?”

 

“Fuck knows. Around? I know Bits is here somewhere. He just sent me to the kitchen to drink some water. Oh there he is! And there’s Ollie! I need to tell him I won!” Wicks darts off into the dancing crowd in the living room.

 

Bittle is dancing at the center of the room, Holster on one side and Ollie on the other, nearly obscured by the two 6’4” defensemen. Still, it’s like he suddenly drew all the brightness of the room towards him and his obscenely skimpy bunny costume. Jack can’t breathe for a moment as Bittle keeps time with the music, eyes closed, somehow both intensely focused and looser than he’d ever seen him.

 

“Tub juice here, get your tub juice here!”

 

Jack is momentarily distracted by Shitty strolling by the living room dressed- though undressed would be more accurate- as a ballpark concessioner, solo cups filled with a questionable green liquid displayed on a tray strapped around his neck.

 

“None for you, Jacko. This stuff is seriously lethal. Just look what it did to your roomie,” Shitty laughs. “I think Wicks may end up crashing here if you can’t carry him back to Mordor.” Quieter, he says, “You good, bro?”

 

Jack nods, “Yeah, it’s just… weird.”

 

Shitty suddenly looks about three drinks soberer, “You know you can leave whenever you want, even if you’re on frog patrol.”

 

Jack shakes his head. “No, it’s not that. I wanted to be here and since it’s Halloween, it’s more special than any old kegster, right?”

 

Shitty grins widely from behind his slatted glasses. “Hell yeah it’s a special night! Now, my little cocoon blossoming into butterflyhood, the least you can do is go dance or help me get these idiots schwasted. Want to know the secrets of tub juice?”

 

Jack looks dubiously at the cups on Shitty’s tray. “I’m not sure I want to know what goes into that.”

 

Shitty gasps, hand to his chest. “JACK. I just offered you the Krabby Patty secret recipe! How can you turn me down?”

 

“I thought you were making tub juice.”

 

“…You don’t know what a Krabby Patty is, do you?”

 

“No idea.”

 

“My child,” Shitty wanders off, shaking his head, muttering something about adding sponges to their watchlist.

 

Jack makes the decision to step out of the hall and fully into the living room, where the music is blaring and colored lights are flashing. The doors and windows are open, letting cool air leak into the room. It’s both refreshing in the hot space filled with bodies and enough to make him shiver.

 

“Canadian friend!” Ransom’s voice rises over the crowd and Jack is suddenly being dragged by the sophomore into the group of dancing college kids. “Bro. Incredible. Cop out, but still incredible,” He says, motioning at Jack’s Canada jersey and red pants. “Gotta represent around all these yankees.”

 

“Who you callin’ a yankee!” Bitty yells over to them. Ollie has moved off to dance with a girl Jack recognizes from orientation, and Bitty has moved to stand on some sort of end table, putting his head above the crowd. He is still dancing expertly to the music, his hips swinging with the bass line, and Jack can’t tear his eyes away.

 

“You’re all yankees to me, Bits,” Ransom yells back.

 

“Don’t let my MooMaw catch you sayin’ that!” Only then does Bittle seem to notice Jack standing there, his body freezing. “You’re here!”

 

Jack shrugs. “It’s a holiday.”

 

Bitte stares for a moment and then throws his head back and laughs. Bittle has always been graceful, but alcohol seems to make him even more so. His movements are loose and easy as he wraps his arms around Holster’s neck and swings to the floor. He strides forward as if to hug Jack, but something flashes in his eyes and he stops mid-motion. “Uh.. yeah. Hi.”

 

Jack can’t interpret the odd change of energy from his captain, so he ignores it. “Hi.”

 

“Bro. You two are just painful to watch,” Holster laughs. “Bitty, this is Jack. Jack this is Bitty. Now just break the bonds of toxic masculinity and hug each other like it’s a celly.”

 

Bitty side eyes Holster. “Mister Birkholtz-“

 

“NOPE. We’re hugging it out!”

 

“Adam!” Bittle scolds as he’s enveloped in the giant defenseman’s arms, but Jack doesn’t have time to think about it as Ransom’s arms are around him and they’re smashing into the other two.

 

Jack looks down at Bittle against his chest.

 

“Sorry,” He says.

 

Bittle looks up at him after glowering at the D Men. “For what? This is all Ransom and Holster.”

 

“It’s uncomfortable,” Jack admits.

 

Suddenly Bittle’s glare is fully on him. “Clearly.”

 

What was probably only moments, but felt like minutes later, Ransom and Holster disappear back into the crowd and Jack is left with Bittle in the middle of the room.

 

“Those boys,” Bittle sighs. “No boundaries whatsoever.”

 

Jack cracks a smile. “It’s endearing.” 

Bittle gives him an odd look and suddenly Jack’s very aware that they’re standing still in a large crowd of dancing bodies.

 

“So…” Jack starts, “You like dancing?”

 

Bittle snorts, “Dear boy, you ain’t seen nothing. Ten years of competitive figure skating and four of ballet. They haven’t even played any Beyoncé.”

 

“I don’t know her music,” Jack confesses, but he isn’t prepared for the sheer look of horror that crosses Bitty’s face.

 

“You have lived 21 years of your life without listening to Beyoncé? Who are you and tell me how to find the rock you’ve been under!” Bitty exclaims, his previously distant aloofness evaporating and being replaced by what Jack could only call joy. “Wait here!” He immediately disappears and pops up next to Johnson who is manning the iPod.

 

When the trumpets begin blaring, everyone in the room shouts with joy, knowing the song about to play next. More than that, people from other parts of the Haus try to shove into the room, so Bitty takes Johnson’s hand and a shot of something from the counter. The senior laughs and lifts Bitty up to the table that’s been pushed to the corner of the room for the kegster. Jack is startled by Wicks’ voice at his shoulder.

 

“Dude. Dude. You haven’t seen Bitty dance yet, have you?” Wicks says. His hand is wrapped around a new cup of tub juice and his words are beginning to slur together. Jack offers an arm to steady him, which Wicks takes.  

 

“I mean, he was earlier, wasn’t he?” Jack says, and Wicks only laughs and leans against him. Jack looks down at his roommate, who is well on the way to wasted, and shakes his head.

 

That’s when Bitty drops and everyone in the room starts whooping as Bittle keeps perfect rhythm to the vocals. At one point Jack can see him mouthing all the words before he spins around again.

 

The SMH squad are somehow still the loudest people in the room and they are whistling and screaming every time Bittle hits a new movement. Jack thinks all the people crowding in to watch Bittle and dance along to the popular song have made the room go up at least 10 degrees. Or maybe it’s Wicks’ arm thrown over his shoulder. Or maybe it’s the beer. The one beer. From two hours prior.

 

_ Non _ .

 

His brain refuses to be lied to. It’s Bittle, twisting on the table that has his heart racing.

 

“Dude, you are so gone,” Wicks laughs.  

 

Jack can’t even deny it. “I don’t trust your judgement, as the person who’s been drinking since 5,” He grumbles.

 

Wicks just keeps laughing and starts dancing along.

 

When the song ends, Bittle takes an exaggerated bow to a room full of applause then hops off the table and saunters back to Jack.

 

“ _ That _ is Beyoncé,” He announces, nose pointed up defiantly, as if daring Jack to say anything negative about it.

 

Jack’s face is still burning and he wonders if Bitty notices. “That was…” Jack’s pretty sure he doesn’t have the words to appropriately describe what he just saw. “Something else.”

 

Bittle raises an eyebrow. “Damn right I’m something else.”

 

Wicks bumps his hip into Jack, who glares at him. This team might be the end of him well before he gets back to the NHL.

 

 

* * *

 

_ November, 2013 _

 

Bitty would be more pissed off if they hadn’t started playing like a dream.

 

Something after Halloween had clicked and the frogs, well, mostly Jack, began a point-streak that was startlingly impressive. Three games prior, Murray and Hall had bumped Jack up to the starting line with Bitty, Shitty, Ransom and Holster, and something just  _ worked _ that had been missing since August. Bitty at first had protested the line change, given that Finley is a senior and a damn good center, but Jack is… spectacular.

 

It’s driving Bitty up a wall, especially when Murray takes him aside and says, “Jack makes you a better player, son.” Jack’s purpose is clear- get in, tear up the Samwell record books to get the NHL back on his scent, then get out, leaving a Zimmerman sized hole in Bitty’s team. Of course Jack makes them all better players- if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be on a winning team.

 

But truth be told, and Bitty wouldn’t admit it even under oath, it’s been exhilarating.

 

Bitty scores the overtime goal of their fifth consecutive win and as the buzzer sounds, is rammed into by Shitty who spins him around and around until he thinks he’s going to be dizzy. Jack has a rare smile on his face watching them, but quickly they’re being ushered off the ice and into the locker room as the game ends.

 

It’s just another game. It doesn’t feel like another game. It feels like something is happening and the whole team, every person on every line, is dialed in. As they exit the showers and are getting dressed, there’s plenty of chirping and laughing and so much energy that Bitty can’t stop smiling, even though there’s still a seed of doubt sitting in his heart _. I just don’t want this team to get hurt. _

 

Johnson ambles over to where Bitty is sitting in his locker. “Things are changing, aren’t they Bits?”

 

“Yeah, Johnny. I guess I’m just worried,” Bitty admits.

 

“About…” Johnson nods towards Zimmerman’s empty locker.

 

“Yeah. It’s probably not fair of me. But I can’t stop thinking he’s going to rush out of here at the first chance and leave us all in his wake.”

 

Johnson looks down at Bitty. “You really don’t know what happened do you?”

 

Bitty shrugs, “Only that he didn’t go straight into the draft like everyone expected. Folks in Georgia aren’t really plugged into hockey news. Hell, most of ‘em don’t even know who won the Stanley cup. And I think that was the summer before I started at Samwell, so I really didn’t know that much either. Why?”

 

“It’s not really my story to tell. But Hall and Murray suggested Jack talk to me at the beginning of the year, and he told me a little more than was in the media. What I’m trying to say is, I don’t know if he’ll be rushing out of here quickly. He needs more time. Probably more than he realizes.” Johnson says.

 

Bitty thinks for a moment, “I guess. Won’t stop me from being wary.”

 

Johnson chuckles, “He did buy you an oven. That’s gotta count for something.”

 

Bitty rolls his eyes, “If you say so, Johnny.”

 

 

* * *

 

_ December, 2013 _

 

The SMH Group Chat has been going off all morning, mostly the guys at the Haus chirping Bitty for crying for the past 3 hours straight.

 

8-Bit: YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND

 

8-Bit: SHE DROPPED AN ALBUM

 

8-Bit: WITHOUT WARNING

 

8-Bit: I CAN’T CONTROL MY EMOTIONS STOP LAUGHING HOLSTER

 

Superjew: Bro I’m sitting across from you, you can yell at me in person

 

8-Bit: I AM

 

8-Bit: HOW AM I THE ONLY ONE FREAKING OUT

 

WickItGood: I found Ollie crying to Drunk in Love in our shower this morning

 

RollyPolyOllie: I TRUSTED YOU PACE.

 

WickItGood: I didn’t want Bitty to feel alone.

 

Superjew: BETTER QUESTION

 

Superjew: WHAT WAS OLLIE DOING IN MORDOR?

 

WickItGood: Homework

 

Superjew: HW in the morning lol

 

RollyPolyOllie: Pace, Jack, and I were doing HW until late. Chill Holster

 

ThisJustIn: UHHH HUH

 

Jack: They were doing homework

 

WickItGood: See told you!

 

Jack: For a little

 

ThisJustIn: lol jacky

 

RollyPolyOllie: Jack!

 

WickItGood: BETRAYED. AGAIN.

 

8-Bit: I think y’all killed Holster

 

Barrington: I’m glad you two finally figured it out damn.

 

Barrington: Though how do you feel about a third roommate Jacky?

 

Jack: #frogsolidarity

 

Superjew: HOLY FUCK

 

ThisJustIn: JACK

 

Superjew: YOU USED A HASHTAG

 

Barrington: THIS MAY BE BIGGER THAN BEYONCE BITS

 

8-Bit: LIKE HELL IT IS

Jack lunges at Wicks, who is splayed across Jack’s bed, to get his phone back. “Pace! Give that back!”

 

“Uh uh! Not a chance!”

 

_ Jack changed his name to HockeyRobot _

 

HockeyRobot: I solemnly swear to not give away personal details about Pacer Wicks’ romantic life to anyone from this date henceforth

 

Barrington: Oh, nope this makes much more sense

 

RollyPolyOllie: lol Pace got your tongue, Jack?

 

Superjew: MORE LIKE PACE GOT YOUR TONGUE OLLIE

 

RollyPolyOllie: Fuck I walked into that one

 

Jack ends up tumbling onto the floor, landing on Wicks who is laughing and laughing. Jack pauses to catch his breath for about 3 second then begins laughing as well, rolling off Wicks and laying on his back.

 

After a minute or two the two of them are just lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, giggles subsiding to silence.

 

“Sorry,” Jack says quietly.

 

“Nah, man. We’re cool.”

 

“I would’ve been angry.”

 

“Yeah but both Ollie and I are out to the team. It’s different.”

 

“It doesn’t feel different.”

 

Wicks leans over onto an elbow. “Jack...”

 

Jack waits for him to continue, but he doesn’t. “Yeah.”

 

Wicks is silent for a while longer. “I don’t know how to say this. Not really.”

 

Jack looks over, bangs falling in his eyes. He makes no move to fix them. “Try?”

 

Wicks sighs deeply. “I don’t know anything about what happened before the draft and you don’t need to tell me. I’ve said that before. But man, you’re allowed to live.”

 

Jack inhales sharply. Did Wicks know? Did he know that his heart had stopped, dead in the hospital for three minutes? He can’t have- that story stayed out of the tabloids. The public only knew that he reappeared in rehab.

 

Wicks continues without pause, “I know this sounds dumb as hell, but you keep yourself at arms-length from the whole team and I’m starting to think it’s not because you’re a robot but because you’re afraid of getting hurt. Stop that. We all get hurt. It sucks and doesn’t stop sucking, but, like, life goes on.”

 

Jack feels the tears welling up behind his eyes. “Sometimes it doesn’t though.”

 

“Maybe it feels that way-“

 

“No. It almost didn’t.”

 

Wicks stops, eyes widening.

 

Jack breathes deep and closes his eyes. “I didn’t mean too. I was just trying to get the pain to stop. But I still hurt everyone around me. I’m not really protecting myself. I’m protecting everyone else.”

 

Wicks’ face softens, and he reaches his hand out tentatively. Jack nods and Wicks’ hand comes to rest lightly on Jack’s bicep. “You really think that?”

 

“I know it.”

 

“Well, I think you’re letting people miss out. And I for one am happy I got a grumpy old man as a roommate.”

 

Jack can’t help the slight smile. “I’m not that old.”

 

“Dude, you’re ancient. You can legally buy beer.”

 

“I’ve been able to do that since 18.”

 

“Fucking Canada.”

 

Jack turns his gaze back upwards. “Fucking Canada,” he agrees softly.

 

“I’m happy you’re here, bro. If you let them in, the others will be too. I think Shitty is half in love with you already.”

 

Jack sniffs, a couple of the tears slipping down his cheeks. “It’s hard.”

 

“Yeah, it is…. Want to go to the Haus? Once Bitty recovers from his Beyoncé coma, he’s making dinner tonight.”

 

“Sure.”

 

A while later, Ollie joins them after his final class and they’re on their way to the Haus. It’s already pitch-black outside, despite being barely 5:00, but that’s Massachusetts in winter. Wicks has been complaining for weeks about the dark. And while Jack doesn’t like it, it’s no different than what he grew up with in Montreal.

 

The Haus shines out into frat row, lights (blue and white Holster’s request, non-denominational holiday decorations, at Shitty’s) twinkling over the frosty lawn. Ollie slips on the grass and Jack catches him, propelling them both forward onto the steps, where they can hear the bumping bass coming from the Haus.

 

“LITTLE BRAHS!” Shitty steps onto the porch, wearing boxers and a vest.

 

“What the fuck, Shitty. It’s like 20 degrees outside,” Wicks grumbles.

 

“I’m going to buy you a onesie. Just looking at you is making my balls shrink up.” Ollie adds, shivering.

 

“No Bueno, little dudes. My body must be free to the elements.”

 

Shitty ushers them inside, and they can immediately smell something incredible from the kitchen, where the music is blaring.

 

_ In the darkest night ohhh. I search through the crowd… _

 

The frogs all stick their heads in the door to see Bittle singing at the top of his lungs. He’s mixing something in one of the pans, with three others going on the stovetop.

 

“Dude.”

 

“Bruh.”

 

“After he got over his initial shock, dude’s been in such a good mood we haven’t been able to keep him out of the kitchen. I think he’s got some sort of five-star meal planned. I, for one, want to thank not only God, but Beyoncé for Eric Bittle.”

 

Jack thought that seeing Bittle dancing was him at his happiest. That doesn’t even touch this moment. Bittle is glowing as he expertly flips vegetables in one pan, quickly moving them to a giant silver pot. Most of the ingredients are laid out like a rainbow on the wood table, and he dances around the kitchen, oblivious to the world around him. He picks up a knife, begins slicing apples, and sings, “ _ Your face is all that I see, I'll give you everything, Baby, love me lights out _ .”

 

Ollie laughs. “Song’s been out for less than a day and he already knows the words.”

 

“Oliver O’Meara. If you think I didn’t already buy the album that came with a lyric book, you don’t know me at all,” Bitty exclaims over the song. “Don’t just stand there, if you’re going to be in my kitchen, at least help me.”

 

“Looks like you’re operating on a slightly different level than me, Bits!” Ollie says.

 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t use you to get stuff off the top shelf.”

 

“I can help,” The words are out of Jack’s mouth before he realizes he’s said them.

 

Bitty looks at him skeptically. “You cook?”

 

“Not like you,” He says honestly. He hears Wicks snort behind him. It’s incredibly unsubtle, but Jack just ignores him. “I can help you juggle those pans, though.”

 

Bitty shrugs. “Be my guest. I hope you don’t mind Beyoncé.”

 

“I don’t know enough to mind.”

 

Jack notices Shitty, Wicks, and Ollie making an overexaggerated exit, pretending to sneak out. Wicks gives him a thumbs-up, which, thankfully, Bitty doesn’t see.

 

“Alright, I need to keep stirring this, so can you finish slicing the apples? Once the yams are out of the oven, we’ll put the pies in,” Bittle instructs.

 

Jack nods, and takes the knife from Bitty. It’s extremely light and sharp, not just an ordinary knife you’d pick up from Wal-Mart. He’s shocked for a moment, but begins to carefully peel and chop the apples.

 

Bittle is watching him closely, but apparently, he’s doing well enough that Bittle hasn’t rushed back to take over.

 

“Hold the knife a little closer to the blade, that way it won’t move around so much,” Bitty instructs.

 

Jack looks up from where he’s cutting and Bittle nods once his hand is in a better position. “Your knife is light.”

 

Bitty smiles and turns back to the gently bubbling polenta. “I got it the first week of my freshman culinary internship in Providence. I was pretty far behind most of the other students, but I had a great mentor who took me knife shopping and helped me catch up on the basics. My baking skills have always been my strongest suit, but they don’t give you the option to specialize your first summer. So I had to learn just general kitchen skills. I don’t think I’ve washed more pans in my life.” He stirs the pot firmly. “A chef’s knife is extremely personal and has a different feel for every person. As soon as I held that one, I knew it was perfect.”

 

Jack pauses slicing. “You went to culinary school?”

 

Bittle laughs. “Lord, I wish. As soon as I finished my first year here, I knew that my life was not in academia. But my hockey scholarship is the only reason I can afford a fancy private school, so there wasn’t a way I could transfer full time to another program. I struck a deal with my American Studies advisor and a couple chefs at the culinary institute so I can take summer classes there, while receiving credit towards my undergrad degree. That’s where I was this past summer, which by the way, is why I’m still used to being up well before the birds. I had a course that started at 6 am, but we were always expected to prep everything beforehand, so that meant popping up around 3 to be in the kitchen at 4:30. The first few weeks had me feelin' like a zombie.”

 

Bittle switches from the polenta, giving it a soft glare and stern warning not to burn, before moving back to the vegetables in the other pot. Jack’s chest tightens at the sight of Bittle talking to the pans. It reminds him of his parents and how they constantly converse with the inanimate objects around his house. 

 

“You know, that explains a lot,” Jack says.

 

Bittle looks over his shoulder, lips pursed. “Chirping me in my kitchen is a dangerous activity, Mr. Zimmerman.”

 

Jack smiles down at the apples he finished slicing carefully, pushing the cores aside and throwing the rest into a bowl.

 

“Alright, now put the rest of the ingredients that are on the counter in the bowl.”

 

“I don’t have the measurements, though.”

 

“You start pouring and I’ll tell you when.”

 

“You sound just like my grand-mère,” Jack mumbles. “Just assume I have no idea how to make this.”

 

“You’ve never made an apple pie?”

 

“Even if I had learned how to cook dessert, it’s not that common in Quebec.”

 

Bittle has creases on his forehead, as if he’s thinking deeply. “That’s right, you weren’t at Haze-a-palooza. I made all the other initiates bake pies. Shitty threw a fit, but I couldn’t let those boys go all the way through without getting something at the end.”

 

“That doesn’t sound like hazing,” Jack says.

 

“Well, I made them do it drunk and blindfolded. Not the chopping of course, I did that myself. But laying the crust and the filling. Ollie’s came out surprisingly alright. Watching everyone try get everything in the tin was by far the best part. Or maybe watching in horror as Wicks mixed up his salt and sugar, so he had a salty pie.” Bitty balks at the memory. “Give me a second and I’ll come over there.”

 

Bitty pours some liquid into the pan with the vegetables and slides over to where Jack’s standing by the pie ingredients.

 

“Alright, so apple pie filling is pretty simple- you have spices, salt, sugar, flour, a touch of vanilla, and a little lemon. When I’m doing this myself I don’t use measurements, because I don’t really care whether something comes out different from one day to the next. That didn’t fly in the bakery,” Bitty laughs. “But I’m going to teach you like Mama and MooMaw taught me.”

 

If Jack is honest, he doesn’t really understand what Bittle says next. Not because he doesn’t know how to pour ingredients, but because Bittle is unusually close to him. Bitty’s hand brushes across his knuckles as he instructs him to “not be nervous and just pour it in there.”

 

“I feel like it’s too much,” Jack says as he carefully shakes the cinnamon into the bowl.

 

“Carefulness is alright at first. You can always add more later, but once something is in the bowl, you’ll have a hell of a time trying to get it out.  But later, you’ve just got to go for it or nothing will get in the oven.”

 

Jack stares at Bittle, all motion stopping.

 

“Do I have something on my face? Did I say something? Jack?” Bittle asks, more concerned with every question.

 

“I’m ok.” Jack manages to say. “Just… your advice is weirdly applicable to a lot of situations,” He admits.

 

“Is it?” Bittle asks, letting out a nervous laugh. “I guess it could be.”

 

“Just, once something is a part of you it’s hard to get it out.”

 

Did he really just say that out loud? To Bittle? Oh God. He didn’t mean to say it. He didn’t mean-

 

“Jack, hon?”

 

His thoughts are still sliding down the rabbit hole, but he has enough capacity to respond. 

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Do you… Do you need to sit down?”

 

Jack shakes his head.

 

“Okay? Do you want to help me tenderize the chicken?”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

Bitty smiles conspiratorially. “You get to hit it with a mallet.”

 

Jack’s smile is tentative, but genuine. “I can do that.”

 

**_/.\\_**

 

 

Alright, maybe Jack wasn’t the gigantic asshole that Bitty originally thought. He wasn’t winning Miss Congeniality, but Johnson, as usual, had been right.  Jack made more of an effort to be with the team and had been a semi-regular fixture at the Haus during finals week. Jack and Ransom could be found together on the floor of the attic, wrapped in layers of blankets, studying flashcards and writing papers all hours of the night. It took the combined power of Holster, Bitty, and Wicks to drag them to eat and sleep.

 

“I’m serious, y’all. If you don’t come downstairs I will unplug the router!” Bitty threatens from the bottom of the stairs.

 

Shitty’s door flies open. “ERIC BITTY BITTLE.”

 

“You know my middle name, Bertrand.”

 

“You, king of the internet will disconnect the wifi? I don’t believe it!”

 

“I absolutely will, mister. Unless those two relax for an evening, I am turning it off. If it was Holster and Wicks, they could use a couple all-nighters, but those two upstairs have the highest grades in the Haus. I know since I’m the one who signs off to let y’all play!”

 

“Just one more hour, Bitty!” He hears Ransom yell down.

 

“Not a chance. You have 15 minutes til we’re playing cribbage like it's summer in the hill country.”

 

“Bitty, I don’t even know what that means.” Shitty says, dragging his hands over his eyes.

 

“It means that all my years of getting sent to the Chattahoochee are gonna come in handy when I cut y’all off.”

 

“Stand back. I’ll get them down.”

 

Two minutes later, Shitty comes running back down the stairs. “Nope. The combined force of their ire melted my delicate soul.”

 

“Uhhhh huh. What did they promise you?”

 

“Back massages and random hugs.”

 

“You’re the worst push over I’ve ever met. HOLSTER!”

 

“YEAH??” Bitty hears Holster yell up from the living room.

 

“Come take care of your coral’s delicate ecosystem!”

 

“On it!”

 

There’s a pounding as Holster runs up the staircase, but Bitty hears another set of footsteps as well.

 

“Wicks!” Bitty exclaims. “Perfect! Your hermit crab also needs to come down.”

 

“If Jack is my hermit crab, what’s Ollie?”

 

“Uhhhhh, the olive of your eye?”

 

“Really creative Shitty.”

 

“Hush up y’all. Now those two have been up there since yesterday morning and I’m getting worried about ‘em.”

 

“I think both of them have their last exams tomorrow,” Holster explains.

 

“At this point, I don’t think it matters. They need to come downstairs and eat or else neither of their brains will work,” Bitty says defiantly.

 

“I don’t know, Bits. They seem to be pretty happy to be up there,” Wicks shrugs.

 

“Happy is NOT a word I’d use,” Shitty shudders.

 

Bitty holds a hand up and the chatter around him stops. “Alright. I didn’t want to do this, because I’m no one’s nanny, but I’m gonna have to use the trump card. Holster. Go up there and ask Ransom if he took his meds today. If the answer is yes, they can stay up there until they die of hunger and wilt away. If the answer is no, they are getting their hockey butts right down here.”

 

Wicks and Holster look at each other. “I’ll go up too,” Wicks volunteers.

 

“No, Wicky, you’ll die!” Shitty gasps dramatically.

 

“Shitty. Bruh. I live with Jack. I’ve been a regular recipient of his infamous glare and I haven’t died yet.”

 

With that, Wicks follows Holster up the stairs. Bitty hears muffled arguing, then footsteps coming down.

 

First is Ransom, looking chagrined, but functional. Holster is immediately behind him, gently shoving him down each step.

 

“Sorry, bro. It’s hard to get out of my head sometimes,” Ransom says to Bits, who hugs him around the middle.

 

“I get it, hon. We’re just here lookin’ out for you,” Bitty sighs.

 

Next comes Wicks, who waits with arms crossed at the bottom until Jack comes down, a blanket wrapped tightly around himself. Bitty thinks he hasn’t seen Jack look so haggard since their first morning practice together.

 

“Well, I was joking, but you really do look like a hermit crab,” Bitty teases.

 

Jack frowns in response and pulls the blanket up over his nose, only letting his eyes gaze out.

 

Wicks lets out a sigh, hip bumps Jack and says, “I’ll be back in 30 with your... yeah. I’ll be back. Feed them, Bits. Then I vote for you unplugging the wifi anyway.”

 

Bitty nods in response. “Downstairs we go. Now, I didn’t have time to do anything too fancy, but I have lasagna and some peach tarts cooling. They’re not nearly as good as in summer.”

 

Ransom beams sleepily at Bitty, “Bits, you didn’t have to-“

 

“Of course I did!” Bitty huffs in response, holding the much taller boy by the waist and leading them down to the kitchen. “You work so hard all semester. I seriously don’t know how you do it. So trust me when I say you’ve got this.” Bitty turns to Jack who is coming down the stairs still wrapped tightly in the blanket. “That goes for you too, mister. What’s your favorite pie, so I can make it once you’re out of exams tomorrow?”

 

Jack takes a moment before sitting down at the table, still wrapped tightly in Ransom’s colorful blanket. “I don’t have one.”

 

Bitty whirls around from where he’s taking plates from Holster. “You what?”

 

Jack looks slightly terrified. “Umm, I don’t have a favorite pie? I’ve never really eaten that much.”

 

Bitty thinks for a minute and realizes Jack is telling the truth. Even though there’s usually pie resting on the counter once or twice a week, Jack never grabs a slice without invitation and has never been fined for taking too much.

 

“Uhhh, okay. Is there something else you’d like then?”

 

Jack shrinks back into his blanket and says, “Pouding chômeur,” so quietly that Bitty hardly hears him.

 

Ransom laughs loudly, coming back to himself with every bite of pasta he eats. “I think that’s the most Quebecois thing you’ve ever said.”

 

“I don’t think I’ve made that before,” Bitty admits, “What is it?”

 

“It’s sort of cake baked in maple sauce,” Jack says. “My grand-mère made it.”

 

Bitty smiles, “Alright Jack. I can look it up and hopefully it’ll turn out. I can’t promise it’ll be perfect.”

 

“I’m sure it’ll be great,” Jack asserts.

 

Bitty blushes slightly. “You say that now! Just wait until I go out and buy Aunt Jemimah’s to use as syrup.”

 

Ransom gasps, “You wouldn’t!”

 

Bitty winks at him and fills up his own plate with food. “Well we’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

 

 

**_/.\\_**

 

 

Jack trudges back to the Haus, knowing he should feel happy to be done with classes, but only managing an unexplainable emptiness. The campus is eerily quiet, as most of the students had already finished their exams and gone back home. SMH is lingering, since they had optional practices through the end of the week. And they’ll all be back before the new year, but Jack can’t shake the feeling of not wanting to leave.

 

This is not good.

 

Not good at all.

 

He can’t be feeling like this already, not for this place and this team that he intended to leave as soon as he could.

 

Somehow in only four months they had grown on him. Ollie his D-Man who looks out for him on and off the ice. Wicks, his closest friend and roommate who steals his clothes and watches Netflix in his bed like Jack’s any other college kid. Shitty who always knows what to say and when to not say anything, opting instead for the longest hugs he’s received outside his family. Ransom who stays up with him at all hours of the night, walking him back to Mordor and telling him it’ll be alright. Holster who understands what it’s like to be older than their classmates, chirping the other freshman and sophomores bumbling through life alone for the first time.

 

Even Bitty, who Jack tries desperately not to think too hard about. Bitty who is warm and cold, gentle and fiery rolled together in a ball of southern contradictions. 

 

He’s going to miss Bitty a lot.

 

By the time Jack gets to the Haus, there’s an immovable lump in his throat. If he can’t leave for Christmas, how is he supposed to leave forever in another couple of months? (He’s completely ignoring any implication that he won’t be leaving if nobody wants him. That’s a panic for another night).

 

Jack considers turning around and going back to Mordor, but a voice floating down from an open upstairs window stops him.

 

“Mama, that is not fair. Can’t we just have Christmas at our place this year? Oh, please! I adore Aunt Judy, but if everyone else is there- no ma’am. Not to my face. But you know that Uncle- no, ma’am. Yes, ma’am. Okay. We can talk when you pick me up on Sunday. Tell Coach I love ‘im and will see y’all soon. Alright. Love you too, mama.”

 

There’s a thump as Bittle slides out of the window and trips over the folded-up lawn chair. “Ouch! Shit!”

 

“Bittle? Are you okay?” Jack says, looking up to the roof.

 

“Jack?” Bittle’s head appears over the ledge. “Oh, Jack! Yeah, I’m fine. Just. Enjoying the outdoors.”

 

“You hate the cold,” Jack monotones.

 

“It’s not that cold.”

 

“Sure.” Jack says, not convinced. Even if he hadn’t heard the tail end of Bittle’s phone call, the fact that Bitty is sitting on the roof in the middle of winter makes Jack suspicious.

 

After a few beats of awkward silence, Bitty asks. “Do you want to come up, or…”

 

“Sure.” Jack goes into the Haus, waves briefly at Holster and Shitty in the living room before jogging up the stairs two at a time. He slides through the hallway window and onto the roof, where Bittle is sitting against the wall, wrapped in a UGA blanket he must’ve grabbed from his room while Jack was making his way up.

 

“I moved the stupid chair. That should really be in the basement,” Bittle grumbles.

 

Jack sits next to him. “It’s probably not a great idea for anyone to be out here in the winter.”

 

“Yeah, well, common sense and the Haus don’t often go together.”

 

They sit in silence for a couple minutes, before Bittle sighs deeply next to him. “Jack. Why are you here?”

 

Jack feels heat rising to his cheeks. Honestly? Because he’s worried about Bittle and didn’t want him to be alone. “You seem upset.”

 

“So you heard?”

 

Jack nods. “Sorry.”

 

“Family, huh?”

 

“I didn’t hear that much.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

More silence.

 

“You know, Jack. Your bedside manner could use some work,” Bittle chuckles slightly. “If what you’re trying to do is make me feel better.”

 

Jack looks down at Bittle. “I’m not good with words.”

 

“You know, I figured something like that-“

 

“You’re chirping me.” Jack narrows his eyes.

 

Bitty smiles for the first time since Jack joined him on the roof, putting his hand on his heart and feigning offence. “What? Me?”

 

“Haha, Bittle. But… I may not always say the right things… You know you can talk to me, right?”

 

“I appreciate it, Jack. It’s just hard sometimes. You and I didn’t get off on the right foot, but I think we’re doing better now.”

 

“I’m glad,” Jack admits.

 

“Me too. I’m sorry. I’ve been pretty spiteful. Shitty and Johnson both got on my case about it a couple weeks ago. It’s been hard since I came out to my family, and well, inadvertently to the public too, this past summer. I didn’t think I’d be the type of person where ‘growing a thick skin’ meant I’d turn into a, excuse the expression, a massive dick, but here we are.”

 

“The media can do that to you,” Jack sighs. “After I… I didn’t go to the NHL, the media had a party. I’ve never been the most open person, but that experience made it worse.”

 

Bittle snorts. “Tell me about it. ‘How did we miss this! First openly gay NCAA captain! Who did he seduce? Is this a diversity ploy? How is Samwell going to perform with this distraction?’” Bittle’s voice is painfully bitter, and he sinks deeper into the blanket.

 

Jack looks down at him. “I’m sorry. It can’t be easy with your family either.”

 

Bitty shrugs. “My mom and dad are great. It wasn’t a total surprise to them, shocking, but it was still nice they didn’t push me to tell them before I was ready. Even though I thought they would be okay with it, it was still one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. The extended family, however, have been… Frankly, they’ve been massive homophobes. They didn’t even like it when my mom started volunteering with her church’s LGBTQ afterschool program. Now with me, being out and” Bittle gasps dramatically and dips into the most affected Southern accent Jack’s ever heard from him “public about my perversions. Why, Christmas is going to be quite an event this year.”

 

“Is that what you were talking about?”

 

Bittle nods. “Coach, my dad, would be more than happy to have Christmas at home and tell everyone else to go to hell. But my mom’s side of the family is big on tradition and I know it’s cutting her up to choose between something she’s been a part of her whole life and not putting me in a bad situation.”

 

“That’s got to be difficult… But at least you two are honest about it. My dad- I- He and I never really talked about my anxiety. He’s Bad Bob, one of the greatest hockey players of all time,” Jack can’t keep the resentment from his tone, “and I’m Jack Zimmerman, heir to the kingdom. So he thought I could do everything he did. And I thought I could too, because there was no reason for me not to be able too, right?” At this point Jack knows he’s babbling, but he can’t stop the words from pouring. “And I knew my mom was worried, but I never said anything to anyone because I just needed to fix it myself. And she and Kenny pretty much forced me to therapy when I got to the Q, so I got a prescription that worked until it didn’t anymore, so I thought that taking more was the answer until I got so angry that it wasn’t working and I was going to go to the NHL and I didn’t want to be me anymore-“

 

“Jack.”

 

Jack realizes he has tears running down his face and a pair of arms around his shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers. “I didn’t mean to-“

 

“Now don’t you dare apologize-“

 

“But this wasn’t about me.”

 

“I do not care one bit,” Bitty says holding the blanket tightly around them both. “It’s obvious that you needed to talk, hell, more than I needed to. And I am so so sorry if I have made you feel unwanted or anxious this fall. I didn’t know and thank you for telling me.”

 

Jack sniffs, but shoots a confused looked at Bitty. “But I did tell you?”

 

“What?” Bitty is staring at him, clearly as confused as Jack.

 

“Our first morning practice?”

 

Bitty is quiet, the look on his face blank. “Oh my god.”

 

Then suddenly Bitty’s laughing, still clinging tightly to Jack. “Oh. My. God. I’m not laughing at you. Just. Oh my am I boneheaded.”

 

“I don’t understand. What’s funny,” Jack asks.

 

“I thought- Lord, I can hardly say it- I thought you were telling me off, Jack. That you didn’t want to be around me because I’m gay.”

 

Jack’s stomach flips and he can only stare at Bitty in horror. “Is that why you backed off so suddenly? Because you thought YOU were making me uncomfortable.  _ Merde _ . I didn’t mean-“

 

“ _ Now  _ I know that! Oh, hon, do you know how much effort I put into pissing you off those first few weeks? A lot! Too much! Shitty was ready to skin me. Lord, what a pair we are.”

 

Jack looks at the blond head now resting on his shoulder and feels a wave of affection wash over him. “I guess neither of us are good at communicating after all. At least I have the excuse of not speaking English… Though, you don’t really either.”

 

“Chirp, chirp, Mr. Zimmerman.”

 

They sit like that for a few moments longer, wrapped in the blanket, on the roof of the Haus, until Shitty bursts out the front door and onto the lawn, announcing (to the whole neighborhood apparently) that he’s cooking dinner. Which causes Bitty to shoot up so fast, Jack has to grab him to keep him from falling off the roof.

 

“BARTHOLOMEW BARNABAS BITTLE KNIGHT! You do NOT touch my good pans! If I have to save one more scorched skillet from you ‘cooking dinner’ we will be eating take-out for the rest of the year.”

 

“Psych!” Shitty yells triumphantly, “The year ends in three weeks, Bits! And thanks for marrying me finally!”

 

“Married my ass! You know you’re adopted! Or did that moustache photo with Coach mean nothing to you?” Bitty shouts down.

 

Jack hears them, but his attention is on how his hand is wrapped tightly around Bittle’s wrist, the other boy using Jack’s weight to lean over the edge of the roof and amicably argue with Shitty.

 

“Alright, that’s it. Chinese it is!” Bitty yells at Shitty who is laughing his ass off on the front lawn. He turns back to Jack and pulls him up by their linked arms. “Come on, we have to go save Betsy 2.0 from the curse of the weed brownie.”

 

“Aww, Bits! No fun, Bits! I’m telling mom and dad that you’re a spoil sport!”

 

“Well, see if MooMaw invites you to the annual cookout then!”

 

“Noooooo, broooooo.”

 

“Fine! One batch of brownies, but if pot touches any of my good tins, Lord bless and keep ya!”

 

Bitty is still holding his hand. Jack’s brain is on red-alert. He doesn’t want to let go.

 

Oh no. Oh no oh no.

 

Maybe Christmas away from the Haus will be a good thing after all.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's part 1! No promises when part 2 will be posted, but I hope you enjoy! A million thanks to Ellie for her editing prowess.


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